Afterlife
by coffee-not-decaf
Summary: Angel gets a visit from an old friend that ends up turning into so much more. And he thought the oncoming apocalypse was the biggest of his worries.


"It's becoming a custom to find you like this."

"What, brooding?"

"No. In a bar. Every single time I find you, no matter what part of the world it's in, I always find you alone, in a seedy bar, nursing a scotch."

"Ah, yes, resident of the tavern I am. Lies have become the truth."

"You're being even more cryptic than usual."

"You're one to talk, Sulky."

"I don't sulk."

"Keep telling yourself that, Angelus."

Angel scowled at the dark-haired man as he dropped into the barstool to his right, gesturing for the demon bartender. Angel used to frequent the place regularly, but since signing Wolfram and Hart's contract, he hadn't had much of a need to meet in back alley demon haunts. Tonight though, he felt like a night off.

This was _not _going to be a night off.

"That's not my name," Angel refrained from sighing. The green-skinned, oily-haired bartend set a tall glass of blood in front of him, which he knocked back in an instant. The folks here were well-acquainted with his varied tastes that decidedly did not include human blood. "Emrys."

"How should I know? It's hard to keep track of you," Merlin ignored Angel's use of his second name, just giving him a half-eye roll as he sipped his drink. The music playing had a heavy bass, and others would have to struggle to be heard over the din, but the two of them had no difficulty perceiving the other's voice. "You're heading an evil corporation now, mate. It's only a logical assumption."

"So you came rushing to town because you thought I was on a murderous rampage one more?" Angel raised an eyebrow. "Tough luck. I'm still me."

"I can see that, now that I'm here," Merlin finally turned to fully face him. His features remained entirely unchanged since the last time they had met, but Merlin was no more twenty eight than Angel was. "Thankfully. I was worried I might have to kill you, and what fun would that be?"

Angel laughed quietly under his breath. Merlin's appearances were sporadic and infrequent, and he never stayed for long, but when he did show up, things were certainly much more interesting.

"So why are you here? There's got to be a reason."

Most of Merlin's reasons for appearing randomly out of the blue involved preventing a plethora of impending apocalypses, hunting down hard-to-kill demons, and annoying the ever-living hell out of Angel.

Sometimes he did all three at once.

"A multitude of things," Merlin said idly, and, knocking back the rest of his drink, said "Take a walk with me, oh great CEO of Evil Incorporated."

"You think you're funny," Angel rolled his eyes, but got to his feet regardless, throwing down a bit of cash for his half-drank pig's blood. "Lead on."

The pair made their way past the drunken demon lowlifes and to the far door quite conspicuously. The tall, dark duo always managed to draw attention to their selves when they were together – Angel liked to think it was because they were both devilishly handsome, but knew that it was far more likely that the onlookers were more interested in the devilish reputations that shadowed over both him and Merlin.

It wasn't often that Angel spent time with someone just as infamous as he, so it was only natural to garner attention.

Within a few moments, the brisk night air bathed over them both, the moon hanging low overhead in the mostly deserted alleyway that the bar called its home. Merlin continued walking, his steps swaying slightly as if he was just past tipsy, although Angel had strong faith in the man's ability to hold his liquor.

He had strong faith in the man's ability, full stop.

He'd only almost killed Angel sixteen or seventeen times now, Angel, despite Angelus's best and most creative attempts, had never even within spitting distance of killing Merlin.

There weren't many humans who could face Angelus the number of times Merlin had and lived. But then again, Merlin probably wasn't entirely human. The man always kept his lips zipped tight on that subject, even since their tentative allegiance to one another.

"So what is this about, Merlin?" Angel didn't have to quicken his pace too much to meet the sorcerer's stride. They were at the alley's opening into the Los Angeles nightlife now, and the street before them was busy and bright, full of ordinary humans going about their ordinary lives. Merlin looked out at them wistfully for a moment, and Angel was suddenly struck with keen awareness that this is what he appeared to his friends as.

"Do you ever just…want it to stop?" Merlin's eyes were unfocused, very nearly glassy. "The pain, the suffering – life in general?"

"Isn't it a bit early in the evening for philosophical conversations?" Angel attempted a quip, but it fell flat, as his attempts at humor usually did. He decided it best to stop before he had a chance to fall even further behind. "…Didn't I ask you that once?"

Merlin nodded. "Our second meeting after your soul was returned to you. London, around 1920. You were lonely, I was lonelier, and we decided trying to kill each other was a thing of the past. You were getting all contemplative and broody – oh, if only I had known what a monster that particular issue would become."

"Shut up," Angel brushed him off, making a childish face in his general direction. "If anyone here stews in misery, it's you."

"This tired argument again?" Merlin chuckled. "Let's just say we're equally pathetic wankers with equally pathetic existences and leave it at that."

"Speak for yourself, old man," Angel found that he was falling into quick and easy banter, which made him smile to himself a bit. Usually it was he and Spike that tossed quips back and forth, and seeing as how Angel wasn't an enjoyer of his company, Merlin's particular brand of half insulting, half self-deprecating humor was a breath of fresh air.

"It's not often you can say those words and mean them," Merlin sighed heavily. "_Old man. _And you've been alive a couple of centuries already. Christ, I am getting up there."

"And you just noticed that now?" Angel asked. "You've got to be – what? At least fifteen hundred years old by now."

"At least," Merlin shrugged. "To be honest, I've stopped keeping track." His face turned to Angel's now, their eyes finally meeting, and Merlin's had a keen glint in it now. Apparently their philosophical conversation was over for the night. "Now, Angel, my oldest friend – a play on words if there ever was one – to business."

"How did I know this wasn't a social call?" A soft laugh escaped Angel's throat.

"Because you know _me_," Merlin grinned before his expression sobered up once more. "I need to ask you a favor. Actually, I need to ask your _firm _a favor."

Angel's gaze snapped to his more fully, attention yanked violently. "_You're_ asking Wolfram and Hart for help? You? After so often professing of its evils?"

"Hey, it was only a few months ago that you were doing the same, so don't get all 'high horse' on me!" Merlin raised his arms in a mocking gesture of defense. The jest in the movement was very clear; if Merlin wanted to defend himself, Angel would probably be thrown at least sixty feet away by now, into the busy, traffic-filled street. "You've got resources, and I'm going to take advantage of having friends in high places."

Angel eyed Merlin carefully. The sorcerer was unwavering, never faltering in his stare. "And exactly what are these resources going to be used for?"

"Selfish reasons," Merlin said without missing a beat. "Purely self-motivated, won't help anyone but me. Well, it might, but that's not what I'm thinking about. I'm thinking about myself."

Angel blinked, unsure of whether to believe Merlin's blunt, precise words. The man was a liar of the highest caliber, his sarcasm was unparalleled, and he was possibly the most self-sacrificing person in the world.

Cordelia said they were two peas in a pod in that sense. Angel was suddenly struck with sadness – the last time Merlin had been in L.A., a solid three years ago, Cordelia had been alive and well. Now…now she wasn't.

"I don't believe you," Angel shook his head. "If there's one thing about you that I'm absolutely sure of, it's that you're a liar."

"Smart man," Merlin recognized the statement with a nod and a sad smile. "Alright, fine. Maybe there's a little nobility in my request. But I'll deny it until the end of time. So, Mr. Good Turned Bad Turned Good Turned – you guessed it, Bad – are you going to help me or not?"

Angel took a moment's thought to consider Merlin's request, which could be for anything from a magical stapler to an army of hellions, and weighed that against his friends' reactions, his clientele's reactions, and most importantly, what the Senior Partners would think of Angel coming to the aid of the greatest sorcerer to ever walk the earth, a source of goodness and hope in the world if there ever was one.

That last one was really enough to tip the scales all on its own.

"I'm in."


End file.
